Once Upon A Blade
by T3hWh1t3P4nth3r
Summary: What if Draco had a secret? What if Harry found out about it? It's more of a prologue for more detailed stories to come, but it gives you at least a vague understanding... I'm not entirely sure what to put this as for genres, so...


Authors note: This is basically a really twisted fairytale. And I mean REALLY twisted. It's also a Drarry, so if you don't like that coupling, then please don't read. And if you choose to read it anyway, don't blow up my reviews with homophobic comments, because, you'll find, I really don't care. If you like slash couples then I hope you enjoy and please do review.

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

Once upon a time, in a castle not so far away, there was a boy. He had fair, platinum blonde hair, and skin as pale as freshly fallen snow. His name was Draco Malfoy. He was regarded as royalty in his house: Ice Prince of Slytherin, to be exact. He had earned this title from his cold and calculating attitude towards his fellow class mates. Though, however highly his fellow Slytherin's thought of him, students from Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff and, especially, Gryffindor regarded him as a thorn in their sides. He derived great pleasure from their hatred: tormenting them and messing with their heads every chance he got.

There was another Prince of sorts who resided within Gryffindor Tower. His name was Harry Potter. He was a Prince of Fire, always driven by passion and longing to do "what was right". He would protect others from any danger coming their way, be it from "Slytherin royalty" or more menacing forces. Needless to say, these two Princes did not see eye to eye. They were polar opposites, as a matter of fact. After all, how could ice and fire ever get along?

Though our Prince of Fire may sound a bit more appealing, our focus is on Slytherin's Ice Prince. Or rather, on his secret: A secret that no one but he himself knew about. What is this secret, you ask? A double life. Though he would deny such a claim, it was true: he didn't enjoy inflicting pain on others. In fact, he would rather help people. And this is where our tale begins…

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It was nearing midnight as a man clad in a black cloak ran, ducking around trees. He was breathing heavily and looked frantically over his shoulder every few seconds, panic in his heart and mind. There was a sound of flying metal from behind him. He let out a scream as a sharp point embedded into his back, causing him to collapse. His whimpering grew louder and more distraught as he heard footsteps approaching his fallen form.

He groaned in pain as a foot applied pressure to the shuriken sticking out of his back. His black cloak soon became shiny with crimson blood. "So, what are you, exactly?" his attacker asked. "A spy? A scout? An assassin?" He chuckled mirthlessly. "Well, that one is rather unlikely, given your physique…" The man's terrified gaze fell upon his soon to be murderer. He had expected a black ensemble, but was met by mostly white. The figure was clad in white pants with black pinstripes, matching hat and vest, a black, long-sleeved, button up shirt, white fingerless gloves exposing his black nails, black shoes, and a double-sided cloak: one side white, one side black. There were two features that stood out notably: a black mask around his eyes, completely blocking them from view, and four earrings in his left ear: green at the bottom, next came red, then blue, ending with yellow.

"Well, it doesn't really matter anyway. You won't be around long enough for it to be of any true consequence." With that, blood from his victim's throat spilled over a silver dagger, not even giving him a chance to scream. He wiped crimson from silver, gazing down at his mark, a smirk creeping on to his pale lips. "What a fool you were…" He pulled out his Hawthorn wand and conjured a red rose on to his victim's unmoving chest. Red roses were his calling card, and he always left one behind. He was not ashamed of what he had done by any means. Those that he killed always deserved it. Besides, he didn't kill his targets often. Only in extreme cases did he take someone's life. Otherwise, he simply knocked them out or tied them up, leaving them to be found by the appropriate people.

He turned back and started towards his home: Hogwarts. With any luck, no one will have noticed his absence. He normally made it out and back undetected, why should tonight be any different? Well, that's because tonight, he was not alone in his desire for a midnight prowl. Another boy, one with emerald eyes and hair as black as night, had taken it upon himself to take a little late night stroll. He had stopped at a large window, and had witnessed most of what had just happened. He simply stared at the murderer making his way past Black Lake.

He jumped backwards when said figure sprang up into the window, landing gracefully on its edge, much like a cat. "How much did you see, Potter?" Harry found something very familiar about this voice: it sounded just like Draco.

"Why don't you take off your mask, Malfoy? I know it's you," he spat. He watched as two vicious, storm-grey orbs were revealed from under silky, black material. He unconsciously took a step back, slightly intimidated by his older schoolmate. After all, he'd just seen him kill a man and without using magic, at that. He straightened up, regaining whatever courage he could muster. "I know what you did, Malfoy. You just killed a man and-"

"And what?" Draco cut in. "You'll go and tattle to Dumbledore like a weakling, Potter?" Harry felt his fists clench as Malfoy smirked, leaning closer to him. "What are you going to do? Hmm? You going to hex me? Punch me? Tattle on me? Or," he had Harry backed up against a wall now, "Are you simply going to gape at me like that all night?" Harry hadn't realized that he had been staring at the blonde. Actually, if he were being perfectly honest with himself, he had been checking Draco out: his eyes scanning over every inch of that thin, toned body. And he had to admit: he liked what he saw. And he liked what was happening. He was enjoying being intimidated by Slytherin's Prince, being forced up against a wall. Words were not needed to express his thoughts, though. His anatomy had taken care of that already…

Draco smirked down at Gryffindor's 'passionate' Prince. "My, my, Potter…" he chided. "And here I was thinking you didn't even like me…" He moved forward, pressing both their lips and bodies together. It was utter bliss. The kiss was not sweet or tender. But, then, why should it be? 'Sweet' and 'tender' didn't truly suit either of them. These may have fit Harry had he been alone, but when both princes were together; they were aggressive, passionate, cruel and driven. Their kiss should mirror their relationship's personality.

Draco pulled away first, his smirk still in place. "Later, love," he said, raising his eyebrows at Harry before turning to leave.

"Wait!" Harry called out. "What do you call yourself, anyway? When you're out doing these things?"

Draco stopped and turned, smirk replaced with a small smile. "Go to bed, Potter…" With that, he vanished, leaving Harry more than a little confused. He was also a wee bit disappointed: he had hoped to get a bit more than just a kiss…

He crept silently to his bed, not wanting to wake everyone. He was surprised slightly by what he saw: lying on his pillow was a full, beautiful, white rose with a piece of parchment attached. He smirked as he read its message: The White Panther.

The end?

Note: This most likely WILL be the end for this specific fic. Though, It is NOT the end of The Panther. Ok, so I'm sure you're all a bit curious about the whole "White Panther" thing. I plan to write more stories with him in it, so don't sweat it. But, if you have questions that you just NEED to know now, feel free to leave a review or Private Message me. Thanks and I hope you liked it. Also, I'm sorry if some of the wording seems a bit awkward, but this was for a challenge. I couldn't use the word 'the' more than ten times. I was also experimenting a bit with style.


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